


Facing the Music

by jooliewrites



Series: Season 2 Coliver Codas [15]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: :(, Coda, Domestic, Episode Related, Episode: s02e15 Anna Mae, Established Relationship, Fighting, M/M, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6305536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am saying that I never received that email,” Connor explains into the phone. There’s a bite in his voice but he’s holding back the worst of it, trying to remain cordial and polite. “I know you’re saying it was sent. I’m saying that I never—Wait! When did you say I called? I never called. I wouldn’t have—”</p><p>Connor turns then and their eyes meet across the apartment. Oliver doesn’t blink. Connor’s shoulders go taut, his spine snaps to attention, and Oliver’s stomach turns to water. Oliver watches as Connor puts two-and-two together and he can tell the instant Connor figures out what happened. </p><p>In the space of a heartbeat, he knows. Connor knows what Oliver did. </p><p>“Okay. Alright,” Connor pinches the bridge of his nose and turns away. “I think there’s been a mistake. I am Connor Walsh and I would like to accept your offer if you—I do understand that but if I could just explain I really think—Okay. Yes. I understand. Thank you. Thank you for your time and...and everything.” </p><p>Connor taps his screen to end the call and licks his lips before turning to meet Oliver’s unblinking gaze. “Why?” he asks, eerily calm. </p><p>+ </p><p>A Coliver 2x15 Coda</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facing the Music

**Author's Note:**

> [cross-posted](https://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/post/141391568168/a-2x15-coliver-coda-ao3-what-do-you-think-of)

"What do you think of this place?” Connor asks over breakfast the next morning.

Oliver squints at the phone that’s been shoved in his face. “What am I looking at?”

“An apartment. For Stanford,” Connor explains. “A few blocks off campus. It’s got a parking space, balcony, washer-dryer in the building. It’s a studio though, which could suck.” Leaning over Oliver’s shoulder, Connor swipes through the pictures. “But, I mean, it’s only a little smaller than this place and the rent’s okay. We could get some of those screen, room divider things if we want. And it’s—”

Oliver’s back straightens. “Isn’t this a little cart before the horse?”

“Maybe,” Connor shrugs. “But I should hear from them soon. And, I don’t know...” He looks down at the apartment pictures over Oliver’s shoulder for a second and, when he looks up again, his smile is almost blinding. “I just have a good feeling, I guess.”

Unsure of himself, Oliver nods once before handing the phone back. They continue eating in silence.

Oliver’s eggs are tasteless and the coffee makes him feel sick to his stomach but he finishes it all anyway.

-

A day later, a late spring freeze leaves frost on the windows of Oliver’s car. He starts it — cranking the heat up and getting the back defroster going — before digging the ice scrappers out of his trunk.

Oliver hands the spare one to Connor and grumbles, “Knew I jinxed it by putting these away.” Connor snorts but doesn’t say anything; he simply starts scraping the ice off the windows of the passenger’s side.

They get the windows mostly cleaned off and get in the car.

Warming his hands a bit on the heater, Connor smiles. “Just think. Another thing we won’t have to deal with in California.”

Oliver looks away and doesn’t respond. He just checks and rechecks his mirrors as he pulls out of the parking space and they drive to Annalise’s house in comfortable silence.

-

The following night, they’re watching a movie on the couch.

Just as the movie is starting to get good, Connor bolts up and starts digging in his pocket.

Oliver grabs another handful of popcorn. “Thought we said no phones.”

“It buzzed,” Connor mumbles as he pulls out his phone. “Could be Stanford.” He flips it over to check the screen and his shoulders sag. “It’s just Michaela.” Fingers flying over the screen, Connor shoots off a quick response then looks up at Oliver. “Why haven’t I heard from them yet?”

“Should you have heard by now?”

“Yeah.” Connor’s fingers fly over the screen again and Oliver can almost make out what Connor’s doing. Opening his email, checking and refreshing the inbox, checking the spam folder, checking other folders. “I mean, the site said that they start sending out stuff this week and...”

“The week’s not over,” Oliver points out.

“I suppose.” Tossing the phone down on the coffee table, Connor crosses his arms and slouches back in the couch, leaning into Oliver’s side. “Just should have heard by now.”

They watch the rest of the movie in silence.

-

The next day, Connor’s on the phone when Oliver opens the door to 303. Quietly setting his gym bag down, Oliver watches Connor pace on the other side of the apartment.

“I am saying that I never received that email,” Connor’s explaining on the phone. There’s a bite in his voice but he’s holding back the worst of it, trying to remain cordial and polite. “I know you’re saying it was sent. I’m saying that I never—”

The person on the other end must have interrupted because Connor stops abruptly and faces away, looking out the windows at the busy street below.

Heading into the kitchen, Oliver rests a hip on the counter, crosses his arms over his chest, and waits. He’s been waiting for this for days and now it’s only a matter of moments before he has to face the music. He still hasn’t come up with something good to say, an explanation that makes sense.

“Wait!” Connor says into the phone. “When did you say I called? I never called. I wouldn’t have—”

Connor turns then and their eyes meet across the apartment. Oliver doesn’t blink. Connor’s shoulders go taut, his spine snaps to attention, and Oliver’s stomach turns to water. Oliver watches as Connor puts two-and-two together and he can tell the instant Connor figures out what happened.

In the space of a heartbeat, he knows. Connor knows what Oliver did.

“Okay. Alright,” Connor pinches the bridge of his nose and turns away. “I think there’s been a mistake. _I_ am Connor Walsh and I would like to accept your offer if you—” Silence again while Stanford talks. “Well, isn’t there anything you could do? I understand it’s competitive and you’ve offered the spot to another candidate but if I could just—!” More silence. “I do understand that but if I could just explain I really think—” Again silence. “Okay. Yes,” Connor’s tone is dejected, defeated. “Yes. Please put me on the waiting list. I am really very interested—” One last silence. “Okay. Yes. I understand. Thank you. Thank you for your time and...and everything.”

Connor taps his screen to end the call and swipes the screen clean with his thumb before slipping the phone into his pocket. The silence between them thickens until Oliver can hardly breathe for it.

Connor licks his lips and turns to meet Oliver’s unblinking gaze. “Why?” he asks, eerily calm.

Oliver stares back. “I don’t want to move.” There’s more, of course, there’s always more, but it’s the most pressing excuse that comes to him.

“You couldn’t have just told me that?” The bite is back in Connor’s voice again and he’s not holding back like he had a moment ago. There’s no one in this apartment he needs to impress anymore.

Oliver lifts a noncommittal shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d care to listen.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Connor demands.

“You don’t listen to me. You never listen to me,” Oliver says, also eerily calm.

“Now that’s not—!”

“ _This_ —right now—this is the first conversation we’ve actually had about moving,” Oliver throws out. “We never talked about it together. You just decided. For the both of us. Like always."

“‘Like always’?” Connor parrots.

Oliver starts ticking things off with his fingers. “Like us living together. Like getting back together. Like—”

“Like you quitting your job?” Connor cuts him off. “Like your stupid plan to work for Annalise? Because those were totally things I decided all by myself.”

Ignoring him for the moment, Oliver presses on. “You’ve been in charge or—or whatever of everything between us since the beginning. You set the terms. You led the way and I just followed along like some idiot.”

“What?” Connor’s so blindsided by this he can’t even think of a more intelligent response. “What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying I’m tired of feeling like my life is not mine,” Oliver spits out. “I’m tired of feeling like—like I’m secondary. Like you are more important than me. Like I’m not in control of anything anymore. I am done feeling like I’m not in control of my own life, likw I can’t speak for myself, like I just do whatever it is you want.”

Connor swallows once. Then again. “I make you feel like that?” he questions cautiously.

In response, all Oliver can do is shrug. Connor starts to walk over, tries to bridge the gap between them, but Oliver shakes his head and holds up a palm to stop him. “Don’t.” He’s not ready; he doesn’t want Connor to try and touch him right now.

Nodding, Connor shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s not sure how to say this next part but maybe he’ll figure it out halfway through. “I’m sorry, Ollie,” he begins. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that.” Connor licks his lips, “But—”

“Jesus,” Oliver curses under his breath.

“But!” Connor says again, louder this time. “That didn’t give you the right to do that. The right to call them and—and tell Stanford I didn’t want to go there. Nothing gives you the right to make those kind of decisions for me!”

“I don’t want to move!” Oliver yells.

“I know!” Connor yells back. “I get that now, okay? But I am trying to get us out of here. I’m trying to protect us!”

“From who?” Oliver demands. “Phillip is with the police. Caleb, he….he’s not going to hurt anyone else anymore. Who else is there that we need to run away from?”

“That’s not the—” Connor starts to defend.

“You told me the whole reason you wanted to transfer was because a serial killer knew our address. Now that’s not an issue anymore so I don’t—”

“I want you away from her!” Connor bites out. “I want you away from the hacking and her house and all the clients and—and—just all of it. I know you think she’s a nice person and—”

“I don’t think she’s a nice person,” Oliver corrects.

“What?”

“I don’t think Annalise is a nice person,” Oliver repeats.

Connor blinks. “Then why do you keep talking about working for her?”

“Because—” Oliver drags a hand over his face. “It doesn’t matter why,” Oliver hedges.

“No.” Connor takes a step closer to Oliver. “I think it does.”

“Con—”

“I think it matters.” Another step across the room.

“It’s not important.”

“I think it’s very important and I want to know.”

“Con—”

“No. You just said how I make you feel...what did you say?” Connor cocks his head and pretends to ponder as he takes one more step closer. “Oh yes. I make you feel secondary in your life. I control you. How does coming to work for the woman I work for make you feel less ‘secondary’?”

“That’s not—”

“Because, to me, that sounds like you’re just following me around. I mean, you’d literally be following me to work.”

“Connor.”

Connor stops in front of Oliver and waits. “How does working for Annalise Keating give you any more control in your life? You’ve seen how much she controls mine, controls all of us. How is working for her your solution?”

“Because—!” He doesn’t want to say it but Oliver can’t see another way out. “Because then I would still be useful to you!”

“‘You’d still be useful’?” Connor blinks. “What the hell—?”

“I know she’s a bad person. I know working for her is a bad idea,” Oliver says. “I mean, I live with you. I see the nightmares and the panic attacks and...and all of it. I know it’s a bad idea but, Connor.” Oliver grabs Connor’s sweater and makes a fist over Connor’s heart. “I’d still be useful to you.”

Connor shakes his head. This doesn’t make sense. “You just said I’m too controlling or—or whatever. How is—?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense!” Oliver closes his eyes and tries to figure out how to say this. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you but...but it makes sense to me.

“I want us to be more...more equal, I guess is the word,” Oliver explains. “I want us to talk more and...and get on the same page and listen to each other. But, Connor,” Oliver’s eyes meet Connor’s and they’re desperate. “I worry about our—our lives when I’m not useful to you anymore. The hacking and the...the getting information and—it’s always been there. It’s always been part of us. It’s always been part of the dynamic and I worry about what it’ll be like is that’s gone.”

“Oliver,” Connor tries.

“No. Okay, if we moved and I got a job with some tech firm 9-to-5 and you went to school and had a normal internship. And then, at night,it’s just the two of us. There’s no hacking for me to do and I’m not your safe space away from Annalise and—and it’s all just normal.” Oliver stops to stare at his hand still knotted in Connor’s sweater. “Can you really see that? See the—the two of us working without that part of it all.”

Stunned, Connor doesn’t really know what to say. “Ollie…”

“Because I _can’t_ ,” Oliver tells him. “I can’t see us talking about our days after work and you doing homework while I...I don’t know, watch TV or something. On the weekends we...what? Go to farmer’s markets or antique shopping or something else stereotypical? In a few years we get a dog and talk about adopting a kid and just be normal?” Oliver waits but Connor just stares at him. “Because I can’t see any of that, Connor. I can’t see us without the hacking, without the work for Annalise. It’s such a part of us and I can’t—” Oliver blinks away the sting of tears in his eyes and swallows down the lump in his throat. He’s not crying. He’s not doing that.

Cupping Oliver’s cheeks in both hands, Connor leans in close. “Ol—”

“Would you have ever called me again if I couldn’t hack into things?” Oliver asks. “After that first night, would you have ever come back here if I wasn’t useful to you? To her?”

“She has nothing to do with us,” Connor tells him.

Oliver snorts. “She has everything to do with us.” He licks his lips. “It may be roundabout but she’s part of the reason we got together. And part of the reason we broke up. And part of why you came back.”

“She’s not why I came back,” Connor bites out.

“Something happened with her that night, something bad,” Oliver says. “Something that—that drove you back here.”

Oliver doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t offer more explanation, but he knows it’s true. Something to do with Annalise Keating happened the night Connor ended up knocking on his door at six AM. Something triggered him into using so much or prompted Connor’s freak out or—or _something_. Oliver knows down to the marrow of his bones that Annalise Keating and Associates had something to do with how Connor ended up back at the doorstep of 303.

At Oliver’s words, Connor takes a step back at that, hands going back in his pockets, and Oliver untangles his hand from Connor’s sweater.

“I would have called you. After we met, hacking or no, I would have called you again,” Connor whispers but he doesn’t even manage to convince himself.

“No,” Oliver tells him, sadly. “You wouldn’t have.”

Unsure of his footing, Connor doesn’t know what to say. He always knew he had Annalise Keating to thank for the worst parts of his life. He just never realized he also had her to thank for the best.

“I don’t know what to say,” Connor admits after a few moments of uncomfortable stillness between them.

“I don’t know what else there is to say,” Oliver offers.

“I’m _so mad_ at you, Oliver,” Connor whispers harshly. Because he is. Despite what Oliver’s said, despite all the truth suddenly surrounding them, Connor is still furious. Oliver had no right to make that phone call, delete that email. He had no right to make that decision all on his own. There can’t be an excuse for keeping that a secret for days.

“I know.” Oliver nods. “But—” he hesitates only a moment before whispering, “But I think I’m mad at you too.”

“So, we’re both mad,” Connor says.

Oliver nods again. “Looks like it,” he says softly.

Afraid of what Oliver will say, Connor gently asks, “So what do we do now?”

The sting of tears are back but Oliver doesn’t let them fall yet. “I think—” he stops to swallow down the lump in his throat before slowly going on. “I think having some space might be a good—”

“No!” Connor snaps. There are tears lingering in his eyes too, a sob is making his voice waver, but he ignores them both. That’s not option. Connor may be so mad at Oliver he could spit nails but they aren’t breaking up. That’s just not happening. “No. We aren’t breaking up."

“I didn’t say breaking up. I didn’t say that,” Oliver’s quick to clarify. “But—but maybe a little bit of space will give some perspective—”

“No. no.” Connor shakes his head and catches Oliver’s hand in a death grip. “We aren’t doing that. We aren’t—No. That’s not an option.”

“Connor.” Oliver’s hand is gentle when it cups Connor’s cheek. “It could be good—”

Covering Oliver’s hand to press it closer to his cheek, Connor shakes his head again. “We’ll stay together. We’ll fight more. Talk more.”

“We both just said we don’t know what else to say.”

“We’ll think of more things,” Connor says. “Yell at me again.”

Oliver smiles softly at that but it wavers and his eyes fill. “I don’t want to yell at you again.”

“You just said you’re mad so yell at me.”

“You said you’re mad too,” Oliver points out. “You yell at me.”

“No," Connor whispers weakly. "And I know I said that but—but Ollie.” Connor breaks off on a sob and Oliver pulls him in close. Tucking into Oliver’s neck, Connor whispers. “Don’t make me leave. Don’t kick me out again.”

“No!” Oliver’s response is adamant and instant. “No. You stay. You stay here. I’ll go.”

“No. You stay too.” Connor’s fingers curl into the cotton of Oliver’s shirt. “Don’t—don’t leave me.”

“Just for a little while,” Oliver whispers. “I’ll—I’ll stay with my parents. I’ll still be close. It’ll just be until we figure this out.”

Connor shakes his head. It won't’ be close enough. It won't be here. Oliver won't’ be here to touch and hold and talk to. How can they work anything out when they aren’t together?

They stay there, wrapped in the afternoon sunlight and each other, until tears have dried.

Oliver’s quiet and quick while he packs his small bag, gathering clothes and toiletries, his laptop and phone charger. Connor silently watches from their bed, his arms wrapped around one of the throw pillows Oliver uses to decorate the bed.

Once his bag is packed and zipped, Oliver hesitates. He knows this is a good idea, that space and time is necessary, but now the next step is in front of him he doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to walk out of 303. He doesn’t want to leave Connor.

“Don’t go,” Connor whispers. Abandoning the pillow, Connor scoots down to the foot of the bed next to the suitcase. He places his hands over Oliver’s and squeezes. “Don’t go.”

“It’ll be good—”

Connor shakes his head. “No. Stay, please. We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re mad at me,” Oliver reminds him.

“And you’re mad at me,” Connor counters. “Just stay and we’ll be mad together.”

This time Oliver shakes his head. “No. We need to figure this out. We need to think about it.”

“No! Ollie, please—!”

Oliver crushes Connor’s mouth to his, effectively silencing him. Oliver licks into Connor’s mouth, tilting his head to take the kiss deeper, bruising, and swallows Connor’s sob.

“I love you,” Oliver whispers against Connor’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Connor presses their foreheads together and reaches up to tangle his fingers in Oliver’s hair. “I love you so much.”

Their lips meet for another kiss. And then another. Again and again. Desperate and pleading, each press of their lips tastes like salt and tears before Oliver pulls away.

Unable to stop himself, he kisses Connor’s forehead and whispers “I love you” once more, scoring the words into Connor’s skin. Oliver tells himself it won’t be the last time but it feels like it.

Connor’s fingertips trail down Oliver’s cheeks, along his neck, over his chest, along his arms. They memorize the feel Oliver, the slight prickle of stubble on his cheeks, the power of his shoulders, the weight of his hands. “I love you so much,” Connor whispers, afraid he isn’t going to be able to say it ever again.

With one final kiss that lingers, Oliver tears himself away while he still can. He doesn’t look back as he walks to the door but glances back, just once, after wrenching the door open. Connor looks so small on their bed. Arms wrapped around his bent knees, tears silently falling down his cheeks.

Everything in them both calls for the other but they both know this is better, this is right for now.

Oliver lets the door close behind him with a gentle click and doesn’t let himself break down completely until he’s in his car. Once he’s calm enough to drive, he pulls slowly out and makes his way to his parents’.

At the soft click of the knob, Connor crawls up the bed. He pulls Oliver’s pillow in close and lets the sob break free. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


End file.
